


Hurt

by ibelieveinguardianangels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26500036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinguardianangels/pseuds/ibelieveinguardianangels
Summary: "He rested his chin on the duvet, staring up at the doctor with a childlike expression and innocent eyes. "I need to talk." Sherlock admitted, his voice so quiet that John had to strain to hear him." One-Shot. Complete.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Fanfiction.net on March 27, 2015.  
> Thank you for reading.   
> Sorry about any mistakes.

Hurt

John Watson was accustomed to awakening in the early hours of the morning. He was an ex-soldier who suffered from severe PTSD. Usually, though, his early risings were down to nightmares and vivid dreams that plagued his sleep, or from pains in his shoulder or leg. But tonight it was different, John was woken by a noise in the doorway to his bedroom. He forced his eyes open, turning his head slightly to find the source of the noise. In the dimly lit room he could just make out the outline of his flatmate.

"Sherlock?" John questioned, lifting his head from the pillow. He expected a sarcastic reply, a dry "obviously" or a tired "clearly" but he didn't get one. No sound emitted from the detective in the doorway. In fact, the only sound John could hear was his own breathing. "What's the matter?"

The detective didn't answer, only loitered in the doorway, his long fingers fumbling with the hem of his grey pyjama top. John pushed himself up onto his elbow, running a hand over his face and rubbing at his eyes to clear himself of the tiredness and blurry vision so that he could focus on his friend. He reached over, flicking on the reading light that sat on his bedside table. Sherlock took that as an invitation and entered the room, his movements hesitant.

"What's wrong?" The ex-army medic tried again, watching as his friend made his way to the bottom of the bed and sinking to his knees. He shrunk even further and John knew that he had transferred his weight onto his bottom using his hand to support his weight. He rested his chin on the duvet, staring up at the doctor with a childlike expression and innocent eyes.

"I need to talk." Sherlock admitted, his voice so quiet that John had to strain to hear him.

"About what, Sherlock?" John kept his voice soft, trying to help the obviously upset detective to relax. Sherlock had averted his eyes after his admission, staring at the carpet and when he eventually raised them, looking up at him again his innocent expression had transformed into an embarrassed one, suggesting that the detective felt shame from asking for help.

"Things keep appearing in my head, John." Sherlock whispered, avoiding the doctor's soft gaze, "Things that I keep trying to delete. I keep thinking about things," Sherlock's deep voice cracked and the corners of his mouth angled downwards, "things that I don't want to think about."

"Like what, Sherlock?" John questioned softly, hoping that his tone of voice would calm the detective into realising that it was okay to open up to him. He sat up properly so that he could see his friend.

"Words." Sherlock mumbled. "Names." He elaborated, his childlike expression returning, his eyes flicking up to meet John's, his bottom lip protruding slightly. "Freak." He listed. "Psychopath." Sherlock's list continued and John found himself becoming angrier with each addition.

"Hey." The word was barely a breath, but it caught Sherlock by surprise and he returned his gaze to John, pulling it away from the bedside table he had been staring at. "Join me on the bed, Sherlock." The detective furrowed his eyebrows before clambering to his feet and joining him on the bed, playing with the duvet cover. John pulled his legs out from under the duvet and sat with his legs crossed, the detective mirroring his position with his head bowed.

"I try not to let them hurt me, John." Sherlock seemed to be trying to reassure the doctor, as though he felt that his feelings were inappropriate, that he was wrong for feeling them. "Really, I do." His voice was thick with emotion, wavering dangerously as he spoke. "But they do. They do hurt, John."

John pushed himself forwards so that their knees were touching and hoped that even that small amount of physical contact would help calm his friend down. "You're only human, Sherlock." John explained, reaching out and raising Sherlock's chin so that he was looking at him. "Of course they're going to hurt." John forced himself to keep his voice soft, observing his friend. Even in the dim lighting, John could see the shimmer of unshed tears in Sherlock's multi-coloured eyes.

"Why do they do it, John?" Sherlock questioned, releasing the sheet and beginning to fiddle with his fingers. "Why do they call me names? Bully me? Mimic me? Why, John?"

"They're childish, Sherlock." John stated simply, forcing his voice to remain calm despite the anger he was feeling towards everyone who had ever purposely hurt his friend. "They feel threatened by your intelligence. They're not smart enough to understand you, so they try to hurt you." John reached a hand out, placing it on his friend's thin shoulder. "They're trying to squash you, to make you feel bad about yourself. To knock you down from your pedestal."

The detective didn't reply. He simply nodded his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. He covered his face with his hands as he shoulders began to shake, sniffles filling the otherwise quiet bedroom. John shifted, standing up and repositioning himself so that he could wrap his arms around his friend's frame in a bid to comfort him.

"Please don't cry, Sherlock." John soothed, forcing himself not to wipe away his friend's tears. "Don't give them the satisfaction of upsetting you." His words clearly fell on deaf ears as Sherlock buried his head of curly black hair into the crook of John's neck, his tears soaking the collar of his t-shirt.

John didn't know how, but somehow the pair ended up leaning against the headboard of his bed, the pillow supporting them, the detective's face was still buried in his neck, his arms wrapped around him, clearly seeking comfort from the doctor's warmth. John was furious with the people who had dared to hurt his best friend. They didn't know Sherlock like John did. They didn't get to see the emotional side of him. They didn't have to deal with the effects that their words had on him. They didn't see how broken the detective was inside when he was left to dwell on their degrading insults.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Sherlock can be argued to be a bit out of character in this.   
> Thank you for reading.   
> Please let me know what you think.   
> ibelieveinguardianangels


End file.
